


Out of a Great Need

by slash4femme



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: British Politics, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: human love is fleeting the bond between nations last much longer.





	

**Prologue: August 17th 1579**  
  
“What do you think of the little Frenchman?” Elizabeth asks and Arthur’s hands clench hard enough around the arms of his chair that they go white. “He is charming.” She notes a small smile gracing her lips and Arthur frown deepens.  
  
“I suppose so my Queen.”  
  
“Now, now Sr. Arthur,” The Queen folders her small hands in her lap, “we like him.”  
  
Beside the Duke of Alencon and Anjou, Lord Francis Bonnefoy smirks and Arthur's throws him his most withering glare. “Do you like his pretty friend?” Elizabeth asks and Arthur starts slightly and then realizes she is speaking of Francis. His lips thin and curl, “No, your Majesty I do not.”  
  
She gives him a long knowing look and then turns her attention back to the young Duke. “If your Majesty were to marry him,” Arthur says struggling to keep his voice even and not to break the arms off the ornately carved chair, "he would almost certainly make England Papist again.”  
  
Beside him the Queen makes a displeased noise and sits back in her chair, “You worry too much.” She snaps and Arthur feels slightly guilty for ruining her good mood. “He makes me happy.” She adds low enough that only Arthur can hear her. “I think he might be in love with me.”  
  
“I love you and make you happy,” he points out low enough for only her ears, not being able to bear it any longer, “I should be all you need.”  
  
She only smiles sadly at him and pats his hand.  
  
“What will you do,” she asks much later that evening, chin propped up one hand, “When I am gone?”  
  
“I refuse to think about that.” Arthur turns away from her and she sighs.  
  
“But I am human and we die Arthur.” She lays her hands against his waist, her head on his shoulder, “This will not last forever.”  
  
  
**Buckingham Palace 1840**  
  
“I don’t trust him.” Lord Arthur Kirkland glares at the set of double mahogany doors as if the bane of his existence was standing just on the other side, which he was not. “I don’t like him either.”  
  
“Well your young Queen certainly does.” Francis leans against the back of the settee where the other man sits.

  
Arthur frowns and crosses his arms over his chest; jaw working as he tries to come up with something to say to this. “Yes well.” Arthur would never say anything against any of his Victoria’s choices. She was young, as every country had been quick to point out, but she was strong and fierce and from the moment she had been crowned Queen Arthur knew he’d stand by her or die trying. He really didn’t like the little German man who’d been so set on wooing her though.  
  
“This is all Prussia’s fault. Trying to prey upon her gentle, giving nature.” He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms tighter over his chest, letting himself feel the full force of his righteous indignation. He crosses his legs uncomfortably. He’s still not used to this new style, he’s just not at all sure about trousers, weren’t breeches and stockings good enough for this new generation?  
  
Behind him Francis snickers a little and Arthur whips around to glare at the other man. Francis grins openly down at the other man.  
  
“Now really _mon cher_. You are jumping to conclusions, or are you telling me your dislike of Prince Albert is not because he is the only man capable of taking your little Queen’s attentions away from you? ”  
  
“Don’t talk nonsense.” Arthur huffs turning away from Francis who is suddenly very close grinning at him in a way that is all too knowing. He considers saying something nasty about France maybe making a pointed comment about Waterloo. On the other hand Arthur doesn’t want to get into a fistfight with the other nation. The Royal Palace is hardly the place and Arthur is almost certain the Queen would not approve.  
  
Francis laughs leaning so close to Arthur over the back of the settee that his breath ghosts along the other nation’s cheek and Arthur jumps back scooting as far away from Francis as possible without actually standing and backing away. “We're in public.” He hisses instead, “Have a little sense of decency, man.” Francis only smiles in a way that makes his brilliant blue eyes seem to light up from the inside and Arthur swallows hard.

  
Behind them the double doors swing open the guards come immediately to attention. Arthur scrambles to his feet and Francis straightens up, clasping his hands behind him as the Queen sweeps into the room surrounded by her ladies.  
  
“Monsieur Bonnefoy.” Victoria acknowledges and Francis bows slightly to her. “Lord Arthur.” Arthur blushes pink like a schoolboy before also bowing.  
  
“We are going to take a turn around the gardens and our ladies will company us.” Victoria tells them, “If you would wish to join us.”  
  
Arthur stammers something and Francis steps in smoothly. “Your Majesty is too kind.” He smiles charmingly at the tiny woman in front of him who, like all English Queens he has ever met, does not smile back at him. “However Lord Arthur and I have work to attend to.” He bows again, “good day ladies.”  
  
The Queen inclines her head in acknowledgement before the whole company sweeps by and Francis waits until they are well out of sight before sighing. “Oh Angleterre, you and your Queens.”  
  
Arthur sinks back down onto the settee hands covering his face, which is still flushed a dark, rosy hue. “You're right.” He says after a long moment. “I am jealous, damn it all to Hell.”  
  
Francis moves around the settee and sits next to the other nation. He watches Arthur still blushing, his hands shaking slightly, the very picture of pining love and abject misery and sighs again.  
  
“ _Oui_.” He throws the other nations another sidelong look. “But you are not the only one.”  
  
Except that is not Prince Albert that Francis envies but his soon to be bride.  
  
  
**London December 1861**  
  
Francis makes his way through London bundled against the cold. The brownstone flat he is looking for is modest and unassuming, not a castle or a palace, but Francis doesn’t hesitate before ringing the bell. The landlady lets him in and shows him into the sitting room where Arthur is pacing before the fire.  
  
“There is nothing I can do.” The slighter nation almost wails before Francis has even finished removing his hat and coat. “I had to leave I couldn’t stay there, she was inconsolable.”  
  
“Of course she was.” Francis keeps his voice gentle and soothing. “She has lost the greatest love of her life after all.”  
  
Arthur’s fists clench at his sides and his head bows, “I couldn’t even console the children.” He sniffles a little and Francis moves across the room to wrap his arms around the smaller nation  
  
“there, there, _cheri_.”  
  
“I never liked him.” Arthur says voice muffled against Francis shoulder, “I never trusted him but he made her so happy, so much happier than I could.”  
  
“Nonsense.” Francis strokes Arthur’s hair. “She is your Queen and you are her nation. She loved you first _Angleterre_ , she will always love you.”  
  
“But I can’t make her happy.” Arthur’s voice comes out as almost a sob, “I am of no comfort to her, she just cries and cries.”  
  
Francis pulls back, trapping Arthur’s hands between his own and kisses the nation firmly on the lips. Arthur looks somewhere between dazed and shocked when Francis pulls away and he doesn’t give Arthur the chance to gather his wits before kissing him again deeper this time, his tongue licking across the other nations lips until Arthur’s part for him. Francis pulls him over to the chase by the fire and sinks down on it drawing Arthur to sit next to him. After a moment when Francis has determined that Arthur is neither going burst into tears nor continue to babble he lets go of the other nation’s hands and stands moving across to the side table and pours out a generous portion of scotch. He presses the glass into Arthur’s hands and then settles beside him. He takes out a cigarette and lights it drawing smoke into his lungs before exhaling towards the ceiling. Francis studies the other nation, Arthur is only in his shirtsleeves, hair mussed dark circles under his eyes, without cuffs waistcoat or cravat, and he looks a mess. At any other time Francis would take full advantage to needle Arthur about his unkempt appearance. Now though he just reaches across with his free hand and smoothes the other nations hair back.  
  
“Your Queen needs time to grieve.” He says softly, “but she will come back to you _mon Angleterre_ , just give her space.” He takes one last long draw from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the cut-glass ashtray. Francis cups Arthur’s face between his hands again, ghosting his lips across the other nations briefly, before drawing back. “Tonight let me take care of you.” He says softly and Arthur clutches at Francis’ silk waistcoat and nods.  
  
“I should go and see the children,” Arthur mumbles as Francis guides him towards the bedroom.  
  
“ _Oui_.” Francis kisses Arthur gently on the cheek arms around his shoulders, “tomorrow we will go see the royal family. But tonight,” He draws Arthur close once they have entered the bedroom and kisses him once more on the mouth, “we will sleep.”  
  
  
**Paris October 4th 1869**  
  
He is not used to seeing Francis like this or to be more precise he is not used to thinking of Francis like this. Francis is and has always been there. More often than not they have been enemies and Arthur is used to looking at Francis with hate and loathing. More often now though they are reluctant allies and Francis has been kind to him these past years. Kinder probably than Arthur deserves.  
  
Yet it has been so long since Arthur has looked at Francis as something more than a constant fixture in his life. A long time indeed since Arthur has looked at the other nation and seen something beautiful, fragile and desirable. Now though Arthur will acknowledge that Francis is all these things.  
  
Francis moves around his elegant apartment in a way graceful enough that Arthur thinks it should look like dancing except that the efficiency in every movement make it almost aster. He is wearing a blue silk dressing gown designed to look like a Japanese kimono with his hair loosely piled on his head. Arthur doesn’t know whether to be put out or flattered that Francis has made so little effort to put himself together for Arthur. On the other hand Francis still looks radiant.  
  
“How is your Queen?” Francis asks as he pours the tea and Arthur sighs and looks away. It has been eight years and Victoria is still grieving, still isolating herself from the rest of the world. Over the years Arthur has tried everything he can think of to make her happy, to alleviate some of the grief, to make her love him. 

To no avail.  
  
“She is still the same.” He has no idea why she cannot see how much he loves her.  
  
“Your Queen believes in _le grand amour_ , soul mates, the kind of love that lasts forever.” Francis brushes a stray curl across his shoulder smiling slightly. The way the light plays across Francis’ skin and hair makes Arthur feel a little lightheaded and he has to look away.  
  
“What complete nonsense.” Arthur mutters and Francis laughs.  
  
“I have heard you might go to war.” Arthur says not wanting to talk about love or Victoria especially not with Francis.  
  
Francis cup stops halfway to his mouth and he looks up at Arthur eyes dark and face unreadable.  
  
“With Gilbert.” Arthur says carefully. “That would be a mistake Francis, Prussia is not to be taken lightly, we both know that.”  
  
China clinks against china as Francis sets his cup down. “I do not need you to dictate what my government should or should not do _Angleterre_.” Francis snaps turning away from Arthur, hands braced against the tabletop.  
  
Arthur fidgets with his own teacup but does not look away. He presses his lips into a thin line as well and Francis stands and moves across the room to the window. He pulling back the drapes just far enough look out across Paris still streaked with morning sun. Francis pulls his kimono a little tighter around himself, obscuring one creamy shoulder that had been distracting Arthur all morning.  
  
“If I were to go to war with Prussia,” Francis says more softly without looking at Arthur, “Would you support me _Angleterre_?”  
  
Arthur scrutinizes the long line of Francis’ back for a moment before his eyes drop to his own hands, “If the Queen and Parliament were to decide that would be best for England,” He says finally, and Francis laughs again but this time it comes out a little hollow. Arthur looks away, refuses to meet Francis eyes as the other nation turns, in favor of scrutinizing the Japanese motif on the painted screen by the settee.  
  
“What nonsense indeed.” Francis says it very softly but Arthur still hears.  
  
  
**Frogmore Mausoleum February 4th 1901**  
  
Arthur is crying. Arthur has been almost lost in grief for the last two weeks. Not that he cries much, but he as taken no interest in anything, not eating not sleeping not life in general since he left the Queen’s deathbed. Instead Arthur simply sits staring into space or wanders around his home aimlessly. It is Francis who coaxes him to eat, Francis who puts him to bed every night. Arthur’s distress disturbs Francis a great deal. Mostly because Arthur has always been so strong, so reserved, Francis is the one prone to flights of emotion, not Arthur. Yet Arthur is practically inconsolable and Francis doesn’t know what to do. Queen Victoria is dead, she had ruled for longer than just about any other British monarch but she was only human and in the end she had passed on.  
  
Arthur weeps quietly as the late Queen’s body is moved to her final resting place beside her husband Prince Albert and Francis stands stiffly hands folded and says nothing. Inside though he wants to shake Arthur, wants to point out that Victoria had never loved Arthur the way he had loved her. That she, unlike his Elizabeth, had only ever seen Arthur as a nation but never as a man. Francis himself had always found her a distasteful little woman.  
  
He keeps it all back through, this is her funeral, Arthur had loved her and Francis knows this is jealousy boiling inside him. The same jealousy that had simmered inside him since he’d first seen Arthur become tongue tied like a little schoolboy at the mere look of a nineteen year old girl. He keeps himself quiet, keeps his back straight even when Arthur leans into him still crying softly, walks a little too close next to Francis. Francis keeps his eyes straight ahead and concentrates on the back of the German Kaiser’s head.  
  
Arthur stands beside his new King as Victoria is finally laid to rest and Francis stands with the other foreign leaders and nobility. As soon as it is over though, once they are safely back in the carriage, Arthur practically falls against Francis. Slowly Arthur’s tears fade, and he leans against Francis, but for the first time in two weeks Arthur does not breathe like every breath causes him pain. Francis kisses the top of his head and dare to hope that this might pass.  
  
  
**London April 8th 1904**  
  
“Do you regret this?”  
  
Francis turns from where he’s been regarding the city street below, unlit cigarette held between two fingers, poised in the air. Arthur is wearing an unusually earnest expression, hands pushed into his pockets and Francis really wishes he would not wear brown suits. They tend to make him look shorter and his hair drab. Francis waits until Arthur moves closer, allows the other nation to take the hand that still holds the cigarette. There is a flick of a lighter as Arthur lights Francis’ cigarette and Francis takes a long drag studying Arthur’s green eyes close up.  
  
“Do you?”  
  
Arthur sticks his hands back into his pockets and hunches over again. “It’s a change,” he allows, “not hating you, not being isolated.”  
  
Francis takes another drag before reaching out and running a thumb along the gentle curve of Arthur’s jaw. “We have not hated each other for a very long time.” He points out with a faints smile, “not really.”  
  
Arthur doesn’t try to challenge or correct him only blinks up at Francis, his hunched stature making him slightly shorter than the other nation. Francis wonders how someone who rules or has ruled half the world could possibly be this blind and sighs. He turns away from the window and from England and walks across the room to the settee and picks up a book lying open on the side table. After scanning down a couple lines Francis’ eyebrows arch and he looks up at Arthur who still stands by the window.  
  
“Hafiz? I did not know you read a lot of mystical poetry from East.”  
  
“Victoria used to read him.” Arthur ducks his head a little and Francis feels something freeze over within his chest. “I’m not one for too much religion, you know but . . .” Arthur takes his hands out of his pockets and then for lack of anything better to do with them clenches them at his sides. His ears go red, which Francis notes, is not flattering with his suit either. “They remind me of you.” Arthur finally grates out and Francis smiles laying the book aside and crosses the room again in several long strides.  
  
“ _Angleterre_ -” and it is Arthur who cuts him off by seizing him by the collar and kissing him. Francis cups the back of Arthur’s head with one hand, splaying his fingers against Arthur’s hair and kisses him back with just as much force.  
  


  
_Out_  
Of a great need  
We are all holding hands  
And climbing.  
Not loving is a letting go.  
Listen,  
The terrain around here  
Is  
Far too  
Dangerous  
For  
That.  
~ Hafiz

**Author's Note:**

> \- On August 17th 1579 the Duke of Alencon and Anjou visited Queen Elizabeth for the first time. The two had courted through letters for several years before the met and seemed genuinely fond of each other. Elizabeth called him her frog. Popular English opinion was against him however seeing as how he was both French and Catholic.  
> \- Victoria was crowned Queen of England in 1837 when she was only eighteen. She married Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha in 1840.
> 
> \- Prince Albert died in 1861. Victoria was devastated and never really recovered from his loss.
> 
> \- Japonisme refers to the French craze over Japanese culture and art during the 1860s-1870s. Japanese woodblock prints where particularly influential among the art circles in France. 
> 
> \- The Franco-Prussian War took place during 1870 and ended with the defeat of France the consolidation of the German states into the German Empire 
> 
>  
> 
> \- Victoria died on January 22nd 1901 her funeral was held on February 2nd and she was buried beside Prince Albert at Frogmore. 
> 
> \- On April 8th 1904 France and England signed a series of agreements in London that came to be known as the Entente cordiale 
> 
> \- Hafiz was a famous poet, mystic and Sufi master. He wrote from 1320-1389 in Persia. His poetry is beautiful and highly sensual. According to the introduction of my copy Queen Victoria read his poems regularly. I used Daniel Ladinsky’s 1999 translation. I have no idea, which one Victoria used.


End file.
